SCENE I.
The Forest.
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.
Jaq
I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.
Ros.
They say, you are a melancholy fellow.
Jaq.
I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
Ros.
Those, that are in extremity of either, are
abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every
modern censure, worse than drunkards.
Jaq.
Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Ros.
Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
Jaq.
I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which
is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical;
nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's,
which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politick;
nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's,
which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine
own, compounded of many simples, extracted from
many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation
of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps
me in a most humorous sadness.
Ros.
A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason
to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own lands,
to see other men's; then, to have seen much, and to
have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
Jaq.
Yes, I have gain'd my experience.
-- 352 --
Enter Orlando.
Ros.
And your experience makes you sad: I had
rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience
to make me sad; and to travel for it too.
Orla.
Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Jaq.
Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in
blank verse.
[Exit.
Ros.
Farewel, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp,
and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your
own country; be out of love with your nativity, and
almost chide God for making you that countenance
you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a
gondola3 note
.—Why, how now, Orlando! where have
you been all this while? You a lover?—An you serve
me such another trick, never come in my sight more.
Orla.
My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of
my promise.
Ros.
Break an hour's promise in love? He that will
divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but
a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs
of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath
clapt him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole.
Orla.
Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Ros.
Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in
my sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.
Orla.
Of a snail?
-- 353 --
Ros.
Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly,
he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I
think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he
brings his destiny with him.
Orla.
What's that?
Ros.
Why, horns; which such as you are fain to
be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed
in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife.
Orla.
Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind
is virtuous.
Ros.
And I am your Rosalind.
Cel.
It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
Rosalind of a better leer than you4 note
.
Ros.
Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a
holiday humour, and like enough to consent:—
What would you say to me now, an I were your very
very Rosalind?
Orla.
I would kiss, before I spoke.
Ros.
Nay, you were better speak first; and when
you were gravell'd for lack of matter, you might
take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they
are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God
warn us!) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
Orla.
How if the kiss be denied?
Ros.
Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins
new matter.
Orla.
Who could be out, being before his beloved
mistress?
Ros.
Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress;
-- 354 --
or I should think my honesty ranker than my
wit.
Orla.
What, of my suit?
Ros.
Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your
suit. Am not I your Rosalind?
Orla.
I take some joy to say you are, because I
would be talking of her.
Ros.
Well, in her person, I say—I will not have
you.
Orla.
Then, in mine own person, I die.
Ros.
No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world
is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time
there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet,
in a love cause. Troilus had his brains dash'd
out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could
to die before; and he is one of the patterns of love.
Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, though
Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot
midsummer night: for, good youth, he went but
forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being
taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish
chroniclers of that age5 note found it was,—Hero of
Sestos. But these are all lyes; men have died from
time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not
for love.
Orla.
I would not have my right Rosalind of this
mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.
Ros.
By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But come,
now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on
disposition; and ask me what you will, I will
grant it.
Orla.
Then love me, Rosalind.
Ros.
Yes, faith will I, fridays, and saturdays, and
all.
-- 355 --
Orla.
And wilt thou have me?
Ros.
Ay, and twenty such.
Orla.
What say'st thou?
Ros.
Are you not good?
Orla.
I hope so.
Ros.
Why then, can one desire too much of a good
thing?—Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and
marry us.—Give me your hand, Orlando:—What
do you say, sister?
Orla.
Pray thee, marry us.
Cel.
I cannot say the words.
Ros.
You must begin,—Will you Orlando,—
Cel.
Go to:—Will you, Orlando, have to wife this
Rosalind?
Orla.
I will.
Ros.
Ay, but when?
Orla.
Why now; as fast as she can marry us.
Ros.
Then you must say,—I take thee Rosalind for
wife.
Orla.
I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
Ros.
I might ask you for your commission; but, I
do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There's a
girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's
thought runs before her actions.
Orla.
So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.
Ros.
Now tell me, how long would you have her,
after you have possess'd her?
Orla.
For ever, and a day.
Ros.
Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Orlando;
men are April when they woo, December
when they wed: maids are May when they are maids,
but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be
more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over
his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain;
more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my
desires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like
Diana in the fountain,9Q0373 and I will do that when you
-- 356 --
are dispos'd to be merry; 6 note
I will laugh like a hyen,
and that when thou art inclin'd to sleep7 note
.
Orla.
But will my Rosalind do so?
Ros.
By my life, she will do as I do.
Orla.
O, but she is wise.
Ros.
Or else she could not have the wit to do this:
the wiser, the waywarder: Make the8 note
doors upon a
woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut
that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, it will
fly with the smoak out at the chimney.
Orla.
A man that had a wife with such a wit, he
might say,—Wit, whither wilt9 note
?
-- 357 --
Ros.
Nay, you might keep that check for it, 'till
you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's
bed.
Orla.
And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
Ros.
Marry, to say,—she came to seek you there.
You shall never take her without her answer1 note
, unless
you take her without her tongue. O that woman
that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion2 note,
let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed
it like a fool!
Orla.
For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave
thee.
Ros.
Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.
Orla.
I must attend the duke at dinner; by two
o'clock I will be with thee again.
-- 358 --
Ros.
Ay, go your ways, go your ways;—I knew
what you would prove; my friends told me as much,
and I thought no less:—that flattering tongue of
yours won me:—'tis but one cast away, and so,—
come, death.—Two o'the clock is your hour?
Orla.
Ay, sweet Rosalind.
Ros.
By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God
mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,
if you break one jot of your promise, or come
one minute behind your hour, I will think you the
most pathetical break-promise2 note
, and the most hollow
lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind,
that may be chosen out of the gross band of the
unfaithful: therefore beware my censure, and keep
your promise.
Orla.
With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed
my Rosalind: So, adieu.
Ros.
Well, time is the old justice that examines
all such offenders, and let time try: Adieu!
[Exit Orlando.
Cel.
You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate:
we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd
over your head, and shew the world what the bird
hath done to her own nest3 note.
Ros.
O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that
thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love!
-- 359 --
But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown
bottom, like the bay of Portugal.
Cel.
Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour
affection in, it runs out.
Ros.
No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that
was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born
of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every
one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge,
how deep I am in love:—I'll tell thee, Aliena, I
cannot be out of sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow,
and sigh 'till he come.
Cel.
And I'll sleep.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].